


Falling Into Mankind

by UnholyHelbig



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Demon AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:28:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: Chloe Beale never thought that falling in love was part of the Human Experience. But then again, She hadn't met Beca yet.[Aka: the Au request where Chloe is a demon, who falls for a DJ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, hear me out- this has always been my favorite atmosphere to write, and I didn't think I would get this swept up in it (Again) so please let me know what you guys think, and if it should become a four-part series like I was planning!

**She tilted her** head back, letting the hot alcohol dribble past her lips. It wasn’t painful, not anymore. She could actually enjoy the taste- even if it made her throat tingle. The drink had a way of warming her, making her feel human in a routine that could be described as nothing more but mundane.

Chloe Beale had fallen into mankind perfectly; it was fun, at first, studying the way humans interacted with each other. How they melded into their own vices. Each human had a motive, she figured earlier on, some were better than others, but the driving focus was common; satisfaction.

In 1864 she had learned that people have differences. They fight when things get bad, and when freedoms are quelled. She also learned that it was easy for humans to turn on one another in a quick second. The difference between grey and blue still ringing thick in her ears to this very day.

In the early 1920’s she discovered that indulgence was a thing. That people would die for simple habits and drown their sorrows in extravagant parties and plastic little cards… the years after the 20’s, she recalled, were a simple and cold truth that left her desolate and lonely.  

During the 70’s Chloe figured that love was a thing human’s strive for. They would pull each other closer in the cold of Kansas City nights like the rancid scent of construction and garbage wasn’t clinging to their clothes. She watched from a distance as a man pulled his own coat away from his heavy frame before draping it over a woman who already carried her own fabric close.

It wasn’t until the late 90’s when she knew affection could be something more than just a simple touch here and there. That connection had something to do with wanting to stay tangled up in the silk sheets after a quick moment of pleasure. That it was not only okay but normal, to pull her partner closer after a hapless night of drinking.

Chloe also experienced an undeniable pain two years later- something she didn’t take lightly. It was nothing akin to hell, it was past the fire that she was forged from and the lessons that she had learned before. Something that licked at her hand with blue and cruel flames as her chest ached with a crazy edge of pain.

She missed  _her._

The bed was empty for a while, and so were the glass bottles that lined the shelves of her studio apartment somewhere in the Mid-West. She contemplated writing everything out in her dark kitchen. She would roll up the paper and slip it into one of the empty containers of old crow before throwing it into rolling waves that crashed into the sand. But she didn’t live near the ocean, so she scrapped that idea.

Today, Chloe knew she hadn’t only fallen into Mankind, she had stumbled into it full force.

The music from the club was pounding against the inside of her brain and beating close to her eardrums like every single inch of her was alive with the sound. She couldn’t even tell what song this was, or if it had even started out as something that carried a tune; not it morphed into a mess of pumps timed out to the strobe lights that hung from the ceiling.

She was more attune to lonely bars stranded high in the mountains. Ones that had a small glowing jukebox in the corner. The red and blue lights morphed into a pale violet against the peanut-shell-coated floor. It made drinking a hell of a lot easier when she could actually hear the sound of drowning out her thoughts.

Chloe supposed that this place was okay too.

It was in the depths of New Orleans. The French Quarter was wreaking with different forms of sage, and middle-aged tour guides shoving uncomfortable contacts into their eyes to give them a red sort of tint.  _Demons._ She scoffed to herself each time she saw one of them- no class, but then again, here she was.

Chloe wiped her thumb against the corner of her lip, catching any drops that had found a way from her grasp. She didn’t find any, but it was a terrible habit. One that carried her into the night.

Spring Break was an easy time for her to fold into the madness.

It was almost as if she didn’t have to insight the chaos. It always started on its own. Her job as a harbinger of evil had decreased greatly as the world aged. Human’s found their own way to muck things up, to find accuse in every statement and draw their own attention to the fractures in society.

Tonight, she kept her eyes on the DJ stand. Not so much the man that held an obnoxiously large pair of headphones to the side of his head as he made sense of the jumbled beats. But the woman who looked on with disdain next to her.

She followed the dusky sightline that was interrupted with a few huffs here and there; a young thing that had deep chestnut hair falling over her slumped shoulders. She was dressed in black, almost blending into the night if it weren’t for the lit up white counter that shaded her sharp features like a full moon on a smog coated night.

The girl was tapping her fingers on the edge of her empty glass in annoyance. She almost canceled out the rest of her surroundings, Chloe tracing her own features without the woman looking up. She carried the same energy that Chloe tried to desperately to leave in the early 2000’s.

“Please tell me you didn’t drag yourself to a club to glare at an ex-boyfriend?” She said.

“Huh?” The woman snapped her eyes to Chloe’s. Blue matching even bluer. “Oh, no- I”

She contemplated explaining herself, her bottom lip snagged against her teeth. She raked her eyes up Chloe’s frame, the tight-fitting jeans and equally as snug white t-shirt that clung to the woman. It was simple, a leathered jacket rolled up at the sleeves to protect from the cold air meant to balance the heat of a dance floor.

“I would never date someone who mixes music like  _this_ _”_ She concluded, waving her hand in the air “I don’t care if that we’re in New Orleans. This much trumpet is a crime.”

Chloe scoffed, barely heard over the music as she lifted her empty glass and clinked it with the stranger. She was careful not to let her hand brush against exposed skin. It wasn’t dangerous, not in the sense that this woman would fall to her demise as twelve years bad luck plagued her every waking moment.

The woman offered up a snide smile, dipping her chin slightly. “You don’t look like you’re having much fun.”

“Oh, me?” She raised her brow “This is three drink, Chloe. You have to stick around until I hit the five-drink mark. That girl is a boatload of fun.”

“Is she now?” The stranger called over the blasting music. She almost cringed as her words ripped at her throat. “Well, does three drink Chloe know somewhere quieter to get a buzz?”

In fact, she did. She knew the city like the back of her hand. It had grown immensely in the time she had been planted on this earth. The brick buildings reached to the starry skies as twinkling lights stretched across alleyways. It gave New Orleans the distinct advantage of being stuck so solemnly in time. Aging in its own sense when it came to the nightclub scene, but still carrying the legend and charm.

She lifted her chin and made the move to stand up. This woman followed almost too willingly. She had been nursing her own drink, that much clear by the way her attention focused so fully on the sound instead of the prowess of getting wasted.

There was an immediate heir of calm the second they walked from the club. A line still wrapped around the brick edge, and a bouncer eyed them silently- but it was nothing Chloe hadn’t grown used to. Her ears were ringing, and her breath was prominent in the night air.

A brass trumpet plugged with a silencer echoed its own rendition of jazz. The sound bounced off the bricks as Chloe let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding onto. She could see the girl more clearly, memorize her facial features and take in the pure beauty of her when not under the harsh lights of the club.

“God, talk about a way to get a headache.” She brought her fingers delicately up to her temple, her voice softer now. “This is a lot better-I” Again, she stilled, flicking her eyes up. “I’m sorry.”

She knit her eyebrows together, lilting her head to the side as she closed her eyes. Chloe watched. It wasn’t like she was enjoying the silence. Instead, she was placing something, something over the dull buzz of excited teenagers ready to produce their fake ID to a man that had a neck tattoo.

“It’s Blue in Green,” Chloe finally said, a bit of a smile pulling at her lips.

“Miles Davis,” She got an excited look in her eyes as she rocked back and forth on her heels. The song had escaped her, the trumpet calling her name, it’s brass interworking nothing to overlook. The stranger swallowed thickly “That was rude of me, I just… I knew there was a reason I liked New Orleans.”

“You have an ear for music.” She said.

“If you could dare call it that.” The woman glowered, breathing in as the street performer drew out his notes. “Want to get a closer look?”

Chloe nodded, short and sweet. She would love nothing more, finding herself once again listening to the sounds of her footfalls against the near-empty streets of a city paused. Mankind was quiet tonight- quiet and loud all at once.    


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll pick up, I promise. Tell me what you guys think!

**Chloe had learned** a lot about the young woman with the dusky eyes. They had little specks in them that broke up the darkness- a silver lining to a quiet and rainy day. She kept her gaze steady and commanding, almost as if she didn’t have much to lose, and if she did, well, she didn’t give that away.

The woman said her name was Beca. That Chloe could try and use her full name, but it wouldn’t get her anything more than the cold shoulder. Beca was attending her Junior year at Barden University in Georgia. This trip was designed as a scapegoat for her roommate to see this side of the country before she started on the heavier stuff at school.

All Beca had found, though, was terrible and incessant music and the pension to drink half her body weight in bourbon that she prayed was a lot stronger than the stuff they had at home.

It turns out, Beca really did have an ear for music.

Chloe had her hands shoved in her pockets as she ran her nail over the edge of her thumb. It created a sting where the raw flesh was- a nervous habit that a demon of her stature and control shouldn’t’ even keep. But there was that pesky mankind effect again. The one that made her drawn to Beca in the first place.

She watched carefully as the younger woman stared at the trumpet player with childlike wonderment. The city stunk- sour and rotten, but something about the low-hanging lights and the way the aspiring musician pursed his lips together and blew into the trumpet made that dull in its own sense.

The demon decided that Beca was kind. Not only listening to the notes that hung in the air with her full and innate attention, but she dug into her pocket- pulling out a few crumpled dollar bills along with a bit of pocket change. Chloe could tell that it was all she had on her, the silver making a muffled thump against the fur-lined trumpet case that faced openly towards the cobblestone street. 

“Thank you, Miss.” The player grinned ear to ear. This meant a lot to him, a compliment and something that was close to a paycheck.

She nodded simply before shifting her attention back to the walk. He had stopped playing anyway, and it left a heavy ice in the air. The two of them keeping a slow stroll as Beca glanced towards Chloe every few seconds, something clearly on her mind.

“New Orleans is… Different.”

“Is it?”

Chloe knew it was. She had been all around the world yet decided to live the last fifty years here. It had changed a lot- old brick houses were now burned and coated by taggers. The purples and yellows were quick to fade, running onto the sidewalk to stain that likewise. But it worked- it worked for the city and changed the way New Orleans had flourished.  

“Mm,” She hummed “Have you lived here your whole life?”

“No. I used to live in Maine. Then it was California before a had a stint in Chicago, had a little stint in Alaska too” And she trailed off, realizing that one _human_ person could possibly have that many places to call home unless the service beckoned them, or they were some type of serial killer. “But here for a while.”

Beca nodded solemnly, keeping her own hands in her pockets. Her shoulder brushed against Chloe’s and that same raging fire ran up the length of Chloe’s arm. It started to travel to her core, but she cleared her throat before it could get further. The brunette flushed, a small twinge of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

“It’s uh, it’s changed a lot since I moved here.” Chloe continued “People seem too preoccupied with profiting off history.”

Beca raised her eyebrows, a bit in curiosity. Part of her just liked hearing Chloe talk. Liked listening to the way her voice broke through the air and hung heavily in the best way possible. There was a little lisp to her speech, and her nose would wrinkle when she got passionate.

“Do you know how many magic shops New Orleans has? Over sixteen. And that’s just in the French Quarter.”

Beca beamed, shaking her head slightly. “That’s a lot of magic, Chloe.”

“It’s not even Magic! Just some old hacks who sell sage and stones that they bought in bulk on eBay.”

She laughed calmly. It was a sound that broke the remainder of the awkward tension between the two. Chloe was sure that her ears were still ringing crudely from the pounding music of the club, but each time she swallowed it seemed to lessen. To open up the night to chirping crickets and echoing brass. Their footfalls were booming as they neared the end of main street.

“Like, fish pellets?” Beca asked, “The little multi-colored ones that you put in tanks?”

“Are those the only type of rocks you know?”

She shrugged innocently. The two of them falling into rapt silence. Chloe noticed how cold her fingers were but pushed it back at the thought of knowing more of the girl. She smelled of vanilla with an apt edge of ginger. It almost burned the demon’s throat, pushing against her as she chewed on the edge of her lip. “What do you want to be when you grow up, Beca?”

“I’m twenty-five.” She snorted.

“Yeah, case in point, not grown up.” Chloe pulled her shoulders back as she stopped near the corner. They were under some Irish style bar named Mulligans. The windows were fogged from the heat blasting inside, and the awnings were a sickly and stereotypical. It was quiet, and the streetlamp shaded Beca’s face in a way that highlighted those deep eyes. 

“I want to make music, I suppose. You know, not any of that gaudy stuff that we heard at the club. Stuff that people feel.” She shoved her hands in her pockets, almost frustrated with herself. “I want to make people feel things.”

Chloe nodded in understanding. She had started out life wanting to make people feel things too- so what if it was engraved in her mind that it had to have a cynical context. Misery was fun for the first hundred years, but there was only so much torture one demon could instill. So much bad luck and crossed ladders that her mind was spinning.

But when _she_ was feeling, it was a different story.

“Not that my father sees it that way.” Beca averted her gaze “He’s a professor at Barden. Said that if I finish up my four years there, then I can move out to Los Angeles and do what I could have done in the first place. But what’s four years, right?”

Chloe snapped her freezing gaze up from her boots, maybe it was a little too fast, but it did the trick. Beca was close to mute now, cocking one of her eyebrows as she stared at the woman; she waited patiently for a response. Any type of response.

“Four years is everything, Beca.” She cupped the back of her neck, scratching at it in discomfort. The air was heavy, and so was her heart. That’s 1.4 thousand days.  You can do a lot in 1.4 thousand days.”

“What about you, then? What do you want to be when you grow up, Chloe?”

A sly smile edged against Chloe’s features. It wasn’t light like Beca’s but wasn’t necessarily evil either. It somehow fit with the dark clothing that shrouded her in front of a bar. “Don’t really know,” She pressed her shoulder against Beca’s playfully before walking down the length of the bar. They watched as the windows cast pale yellow light onto a staggered sidewalk. “A teacher always seemed like a good option.”

“Really? I didn’t see you as much of a teacher.”

“Artist?”

“Nope.”

“Engineer?”

“I don’t think so.” She stopped again, it was subtle at first. But Chloe recognized a warmth. It started on her jacketed shoulder and ran down her arm until Beca was holding her fingers. Running her thumb over Chloe’s hand.

“Ah, you’re a gas station attendant type of girl.”

Beca snorted, shaking her head “Shut up… you just, you seem like someone that doesn’t like being held down to one thing.”

“That’s a very polite way of telling me that I can’t hold down a job.”

She rolled her eyes, a smirk against her lips. They were close, close enough that Chloe could, in fact, smell the body wash that pulled into that signature scent. She squeezed the hand that held hers, feeling the hot breath on her collarbone as she swallowed thickly.

“Know any good bars around here?” Beca purred, voice an exhale of raspy breath. “One’s with bathroom doors that lock?”

The smaller woman was pressed fully against Chloe now, having moved while the woman-focused heavily on the words that were just uttered. Her hand was resting evenly on a slowly rising chest, lips ghosting against parted ones. Beca moved closer, Chloe just daring to close the world off to her brilliant eyes.

“Wait,” She whispered, practically tasting the mint mojito gum that Beca chewed. The woman froze, drawing in a breath. She was playing with the collar of Chloe’s jacket, blinking a few times against the darkness.

“Oh, my god, did I read that wrong? I totally fucking read that wrong-“ She went to pull away, but was stopped by a hand on her collar- one that held her in place.

“No, I; you didn’t’ read anything wrong. You’re great at reading- fantastic. I just heard something.”

Beca furrowed her brow, looking around as she took in the space that they stood. Still in front of that cheap Irish bar, closer to where they threw out the trash more than anything. Yeah- it was rancid if the wind blew in their direction. But their second option was a crappy bar bathroom, so she wasn’t complaining too much. She didn’t hear anything, though.

“Forget about it,” Chloe purred, using extra force to bring her lips against the near strangers. It was a burst of emotion that wasn’t rushed or too hot. It was simple, the two of them struggling to stay warm as the wind picked up. The taste of mint danced across her tongue as she hugged the woman closer.

She pulled apart, taking slow shaky breaths. It was that thing, that thing that Chloe felt so heated and silently in the club, and more importantly years ago when she first met _her_. When the nights weren’t so staggered, and the fear of rejection wasn’t present.

There was a shattered clang, one that made Beca stiffen against her. Chloe turned her head to the side, squinting devilishly towards the alley that was wedged against the back of the bar and an old apartment building that had tape over the windows. This part of the city was quiet right now, but it usually never was.

Beca ran her hand down the front of Chloe’s chest. Letting her arm drop to her side. “That, I heard.”       


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie... this may be a little too cryptic to fit into four chapters. Let me know what you think!

**The metallic taste** danced across her tongue like a slow waltz. A little girl pressing the soles of her shoes against loafers as he guided her to the methodic sound of a bass cello. Chloe would be seeing stars right now if she hadn’t clenched her eyes shut if she hadn’t let her fingers fall from Beca’s in one fail movement.

The slap was loud and echoed against the silence that Mulligan’s created. She could hear the buzzing of the street light a few feet in front of them, again, a trumpet player with a muffler strapped to the edge of brass wet his lips and blew out puffs of air. Her ear was ringing.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Beca swore, breaking the silence as Chloe blinked a few times. Her lip was slathered in a cherry liquid, split from the force of a diamond studded ring.

Chloe was glowering, her icy ice lapped with fire as they rose back up to the attacker; a young girl that she had seen once or twice, maybe even more than that. Her chest was heaving up and down as it raked in the sour air that New Orleans had to offer. Her palm was red, and her blonde hair clouded her gaze. Aubrey. Yes, that was her name. Aubrey Posen.

The demon let herself smile, dragging her thumb against the corner to of her lip to smear the angry liquid. “Evening, Aubrey. How’s your father?”

Fingers warped pristine fabric as she surged forward and pulled at Chloe’s collar. The lawyer was close to growling, a low rumble that erupted from her chest and emitted into the air like the very jazz music that floated through the French Quarter. “You know damn well how my father is, you bitch.”

“Whoa,” Beca interjected again, tempted to put her arm in between the woman. The hesitation evident in her stare. “What the hell is going on?”

Chloe smiled, blowing out a breath of minty air as she challenged Aubrey. She didn’t go for the bait, instead, she trailed her stare across Beca’s tiny body. Shoving the evil being away from her before adjusting her own collared jacket. “Do you have any idea who she is?” Aubrey’s voice was a hushed whisper, eyes boring into Chloe “ _What_ she is.”

Beca looked towards Chloe, the woman dragging the back of her hand against the corner of her lip. It left a red streak down perfect skin. She hovered her tongue over the stinging wound. Beca’s confusion only highlighted her features.

“No, actually. We just met.”

“Perfect,” Aubrey’s voice was bitter and jaded “Go back to whatever halfway house Chloe decided to throw a coin into and get out of here.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s enough, Aubrey,” Chloe spoke immediately after the brunette. “This doesn’t concern her. And quite frankly I don’t believe it concerns you either. You had your fun.”

“You think this is fun?”

Chloe didn’t want to answer that honestly. To her, it was nothing but fun; a man that signed a contract was nothing to her but useful. A man who broke that very contract became a problem. The head of a law firm was thought to break out a strong magnifying glass and scan over the fine print. The bad luck that would ring out the second things started to point towards high heaven.

She drew in a cold breath, dropping back on her heels, her cheek was still buzzing with electricity. Aubrey’s fingers were twitching as Beca stared between the two of them. The demon was completely lost. Any normal girl would run with her tail between her legs at this point. Instead, this woman gawked with a curious edge.

“My father is in the hospital because of you.” She croaked out “He has third-degree burns, Chloe.”

“You’re assuming I set the fire?” She did.

Aubrey rolled her eyes, running the pad of her thumb over the diamond of an engagement ring. One that hadn’t been on her finger the last time that Chloe saw her. Granted, her boyfriend, now fiancé, was next in line for the Posen Law Firm. Something he could do now that Maxwell was decommissioned.  

“Don’t play games with me.” The blonde spit out angrily. “You dropped the match.”

Chloe remembered much of that night; snow had started to fall, but the streets were too hot and sticky to hold any of its weight. The gasoline was easy enough to handle, and so was the electric lighter. Maxwell was in his study, swirling a glass of whiskey in one palm while the other creased an old book with a worn cover. He didn’t have time to get away from the licking flames.

“Right, well” Chloe sniffed, again dragging the pad of her thumb over the crusted blood on the corner of her lip. “I’m not one to divulge business on my night off. Aubrey. You can call me when you’re less… jaded.”

Aubrey sputtered. She wanted to say something but nothing except hot air came from her mouth. Chloe lifting her chin slightly. “Or I could stop by the hospital. Sunflowers are your father’s favorite, right?”

Such a bright and obscene flower. It depended too much on something else. The ran would fall too heavy and saturate the roots. The petals would reach hungrily towards the sun. An army of fuzzy tipped plants begging for the attention of Helios.

“No,” Aubrey murmured. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll phone you.”

Aubrey’s heels were loud against the pavement, her eyes nothing but a mix of tired pain and exasperated fear. She once again looked directly at Beca, mumbling something of an apology before turning on her heel and vanishing down the water stained block.

Beca let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding. It collected in the air like half-melted cotton candy- stringy and hot. A wet culmination of tension in the air. She turned slightly, taking her index finger and curling it under Chloe’s chin, the demon not pulling away. “Ouch, she got you good, Champ.”

Chloe lifted a careful eyebrow at the girl. Beca’s expression was shaded by the dull street lamp. Artificial candles were housed in the frosty windows of Mulligans. They were unfocused in Chloe’s view. Her jaw clenched as Beca slowly lowered her touch.

“I should go.” Her eyes flickered down to the sidewalk. “It was nice meeting you, Chloe.”

That was a lie. A midnight walk interrupted by someone only to described as a client was never a fantastic first impression. Chloe nodded, a small smile playing at her lips, the sharp sting of a healing cut pricking at her eyes. She wasn’t going to stop her or object.

She watched as Beca walked away, her shoes loud and echoey against the silence of the night. They seemed to step in turn with the hauntingly silent brass instrument a few blocks over. Chloe drawing out a long sigh as she shoved her hands back in her pockets, trying to warm them. It wasn’t working.

Her face was buzzing, and her ear was ringing, the taste of blood laden like a brick on her tongue. She cupped her hand at the back of her neck. The curse of mankind still thick in her stomach.

An infatuation still pricked at the base of her mind; a woman who had gone to a club to criticize the construction of music before dropping spare change into a fur-lined case. Someone who played the devil's advocate but in the slightest way possible. Someone who had no problem seeking out the bad but relishing the good.

She was like her- the woman who still clung to every aspect of Chloe’s apartment. The flowery scent, and the untouched bottles of white wine. She hated the bubbly liquid, but her girlfriend hadn’t. They collected dust in the corner of her apartment now- a place high enough to see the city, but low enough to hear the culture.

Chloe shook her head, running her tongue against the split in her lip as it stung, tears pricking involuntarily at her eyes. She wondered if Beca liked red wine.    


End file.
